Kickin' It On the Oregon Trail
by AusllyandKickShipper4ever
Summary: This is a redone edition of a story I wrote for school. About Jack and a dream of his. VERY AU, humorous, like nothing else you have ever read before!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey! Here is a new story that I have already written out. I wrote a story about the Oregon Trail for school, and I revised it to fit the Kickin' It gang. It is all in Jack's P.O.V, and it'll be VERY different from anything else you have read. VERY AU, No KICK, but should be interesting, humorous, and informative. Enjoy!**

"Jack!" my mom called, "have you done your homework yet?"

I rolled my eyes and continued to play my video game. "Nooooooo, not yet mom!" I shouted, annoyed that my mom was distracting me.

I heard my mom stomping up the steps, the spiral staircase creaking and groaning under her weight. No, my mom is not fat. Our stairs are just really old and they sound like an old lady standing up from her rocking chair when even I walk on them. Just then, my mom appeared in my doorway, watching in disapproval as I finished demolishing the skeletons on level 4 of "The Ghost's Graveyard." One of the upsides of being an only child is that my parents pamper me with everything a 15-year-old boy could want. The game was just released today, and yet, thanks to my dad, I have had it for a week!

"Jackson Michelangelo Brewer! Turn off that video game right now and don't start it again until you are finished with your homework!" my mom yelled angrily.

Unfortunately, yes, my middle name is Michelangelo, like the famous painter. But if you EVER call me that or tease me about it, I'll punch you straight through to Cleveland! "Awwwww, mom! Can I just finish this level? I'm almost done," I whined.

My mom's eyes narrowed dangerously. She scowled. She marched into my room. "Do you want to be grounded, young man?" my mom warned. I may be a black belt in karate, but my mom can be extremely scary when she wants to be.

"Ok, ok," I sighed, holding up my hands in defeat. Pausing the game, I shut off the TV screen in my room. I walked over to my book bag and pulled out my homework. "Only one assignment today, mom," I informed her, "I have to write a report on the Oregon Trail."

"Well, hop to it, and maybe after dinner I can help you," my mother offered.

Sighing, I sat down at my desk. As my mother walked away, I started reading about the Oregon Trail. _"The Oregon Trail is a 2,000-mile historic east-west wagon route and emigrant trail that connected the Missouri River to valleys in Oregon. From the early 1830s, the Oregon Trail and its many offshoots were used by about 400,000 miners, businessmen, settlers and their families, ranchers. . ."_ Staring at the page in front of me, I started to daydream. _I wonder what it would be like to travel the Oregon Trail. . ._

* * *

"Jack! Jerry! Kim! Time to load onto the wagon, kids!"

My mother, whose long black hair was tied up into a tight bun, waltzed by, her long skirt swooshing as she climbed onto the wagon with baby Milton, who was only thirteen months old. I helped boost my 8-year-old brother Jerry onto the wagon, and once he was safely up, I lifted my 6-year-old sister, Kim, on as well. Kim immediately sat down beside my mother. As I was climbing onto the wagon, our terrier, Rudy, jumped on beside me.

"No, Rudy!" my mother scolded the dog, "you need to walk alongside the wagon, not ride in it with us. Bad dog!"

Giggling, Kim repeated, "Bad Rudy!" and pushed him off the wagon.

Pa hopped on the front bench seat of the wagon. He snapped the reins. He shouted "Gi'yup!" The oxen started moving. After a few minutes, I turned to my mom, who was nursing Milton.

"Mam, I'm bored," I whined, "Can I hop out and walk along the wagon with Rudy?"

"No, Jack, I think it would be better if you help Kim study her words. Right, Kim?"

"I'm learning how to spell! C-A-T, cat!" Kim exulted.

"Great job, Jazzy," I smiled, "How about I teach you your words for one hour, and then you can play with Mam while I walk with Rudy. Ok?" I aimed the words at Kim, but stared pleadingly at Mam.

"Fine," Mam consented, "but only if Pa agrees."

For the next hour, I tediously tried to teach Kim how to spell her name, as well as mine, Rudy's, Jerry's, and Milton's. "No, no, no!" I sighed, exasperated, "The "M" has two humps, the "N" only has one! Try again."

Finally, the one hour was up. I glanced at my mother, who was talking softly with Jerry.

"Kimmy-Cub, great job on your letters!" Mam congratulated her, "Why don't you sit by me, and I will tell you and Jerry a story!"

I slid off the back of the wagon and whistled through my teeth. "Rudy! Here boy!" I called, and Rudy bounded through the shifting underbrush. I reached down and patted him, and then tied his lead rope around his neck and to the groaning wagon. Running up to my father, I shouted, "Hi, Pa! Can I sit up there with you?"

Pa leaned over and stretched his hand out towards me, and I grabbed it and swung onto the wagon bench. Sitting there in silence, I beheld the beauty all around us. Birds swooped through the trees, whistling and chattering at their playmates. Squirrels ran along the ground collecting nuts, and then hurried off to stash them in their trees. The tree branches swayed gently in the wind, whistling whenever a large gust blew around them. The oxen plowed ahead at a steady pace, crushing anything in their path. Rabbits hopped along the path. Behind us, my sisters, brother, and mother all sat in the wagon that we had bought with the money from our house. It was a sturdy, wooden wagon with an off-white leather top. Clean and reliable, the wagon had only been used once. I noticed the sun setting, and the sky was tinged a bright red. Suddenly, the wagon lurched to a halt. Pa turned to me.

"Jack," Pa began, "can you find that deer hiding in the bushes?"

I scanned the bushes on the side of the path and noticed a doe grazing. "Yes," I whispered.

"Take the rifle and shoot it," Pa instructed me quietly.

I picked the rifle up from where it lay between us on the seat. I lifted it, slowly, oh so slowly, and aimed. BANG! The doe fell to the ground, and I smiled smugly in victory. My old friend Eddie had taught me how to shoot straight. I could probably shoot a fly from fifty yards away!

"Excellent shot, son," Pa complimented me, "You are a great straight shooter; you could probably shoot a fly from fifty yards away! Now, why don't you hop down and drag the body over here."

"All right, Pa," I consented. I hopped down from the wagon and grabbed the doe's legs. While Pa and Mam were talking, I dragged the doe over to the wagon and heaved it onto the floor of the bench seat. I hopped back onto the bench.

"Pa," I tapped him on the shoulder, "I fetched the deer. Now what?"

Pa turned around and snapped the reins. "Now," he smiled, "we continue to the designated meeting place. We are traveling to meet up with a wagon train, and the meeting place is only about a mile down the road."

We continued for another half-hour and then stopped. On the left, a huge clearing was inhabited by several wagons. We pulled into the clearing as well, and my siblings and Mam hopped down from the wagon. We immediately hurried to work. While Jerry and Kim were off playing with the other children, Pa and I cleaned the deer. Mam then placed it on a spit and hung it over the shared fire in the middle of camp. After we had eaten dinner, we all lay down to sleep. The stars twinkled overhead. The remains of the fire cast dancing shadows on the wagons. The milky, creamy, crescent moon shined down on us. As I drifted off to sleep, owls hooted and a lone coyote howled in the distance.

**So what did you think? R&R, and I'll update soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is the next chapter: Enjoy!**

"Jack!" my mom called up the stairs, "Are you finished with your homework yet? Dinner will be on the table in a half-hour!"

I sighed, "Not quite done yet! I'll be down to set the table soon!" Turning to the blank page on my laptop, I started hitting the keys: _"The Oregon Trail was a 2,000 mile trail that traveled from any state in the east to Oregon and other Western states. Many people traveled this extensive trail, yet only about half of them made it alive. The trail was a hard one to follow. Raging, rapid rivers, wild animals, Indians, and massive mountain ranges were some of the dangers on this trip. Following the old adage "safety in numbers," many families traveled in "wagon trains," which was a group of many wagons together. A wagon train could normally make about 20-30 miles a day, which meant the journey lasted for the better part of a year. If a wagon train was lucky, they would run into a "mountain man," a wanderer who helped wagon trains. The mountain man would show them edible plants, help them with specific needs, or direct them to a trading camp for supplies. Two of the most famous "mountain men" were Jedediah Smith and Johnny Appleseed. . ."_

* * *

Our wagon train had fallen into a routine. We would rise early and eat a light breakfast. Travel all day. Munch on dried or preserved food. Occasionally stop to pick berries. In the evening, the men would hunt and the women would prepare camp. Eat a large supper. Sing songs around the campfire. Fall asleep under the stars. The next morning was the same. This morning, though, a new excitement was in the air. Even in camp, I could hear the sound of flowing water. As we traveled along, the sound grew louder. Suddenly, there it was. A rushing river as wide as the whole state of Pennsylvania stood in our way. Just as I was turning to Pa to ask him what we were supposed to do, he snapped the reins and the oxen started lumbering—into the water!

Pa turned to me. "Jack, you need to listen to me. I know that you would love to sit here on the bench with me, but it will not be safe. I want you to stay safe. So, can you please climb into the wagon with your mother and siblings?"

I nodded and climbed through the window from the bench seat, and tumbled to the floor. When I stood up, I turned to Mam. "Mam, what are we doing? Will we drown? How can I help?"

Mam smiled serenely. "Jack, if you and Jerry could please just sit down and stay put, we will all be fine. All the travelers to Oregon cross the Mississippi River. Pa will lead the oxen across, and everything will be fine. Ok?"

Numbly, I nodded and sat down, pulling Jerry with me. Mam pulled Kim close. The raging river filled our ears with its rapid rushing. Even if I shouted, I am sure no one could have heard me. The river seemed to want to drown out all other noises. I peeked out the window and gasped in surprise. Pa was not on the bench seat! Instead, he was IN THE WATER! He was pulling on the oxen's lead rope and swimming; the water was up to his neck. Just then, a wave splashed me in the face. I sat back down, spluttering and wiping the water from my eyes.

Mam smiled, "I think you now know not to stick your head out the window."

Kim smiled and giggled, "You're funny, Jakky!" When she was three, she tried to pronounce my name, but it sounded like "Jakky" instead of Jack, and so she now always calls me that. Just then, instead of feeling the weird floating sensation from when the wagon was in the water, we felt a thud and then the wagon wheels started rolling again! I stood up and peeked out the window, and Pa waved at me from in front of the oxen. The water was only up to his knees now, and he was quickly wading out of it. The river noise was still extremely loud, but Pa shouted over it.

"We made it across! As soon as we reach the bank, we will stop and wait for the other wagons."

Pulling up on shore, Pa halted the oxen. Climbing out, Jerry and I ran to hug him.

"Pa, pa!" Jerry cried, "You were swimming and pulling the oxen, and we were sitting and a wave splashed Jack in the face, and Mam was holding Kimmy and Milton, 'cause they were scared, but I am big boy and I wasn't! It was so cool! Let's do it again!"

"Jerry, that was dangerous, not funny or exciting. We will not cross the river again. Now, it is time for you boys to climb back into the wagon with your mother. Jack, I want you to ride in back this time."

The other wagons began pulling out of the water, and we were soon on our way again. Several days later, after traveling along the straight road that we followed thus far, we entered a dark green, lush forest. Olive green moss hung from trees that were crowded so close that the forest was aphotic. Spectacularly colored birds flew above our heads and raccoons, rabbits, squirrels, and other animals scurried along the ground and in the trees. I had grown used to the occasional explosion from a gun, which belonged to one of the men; they all carried rifles and shotguns. As we continued through the forest, I heard a different noise that I had not heard since back when we were living in Pennsylvania and Eddie and I used to shoot coons and make caps. That is how we each were able to afford a shotgun of our own. That sound was a musket shot! Now, I knew that no one on this wagon train had a musket, so that had to have been shot from someone else. Just then, a man stepped out from behind some trees, holding a couple dead rabbits in one hand and an old musket in the other. Pa stopped the wagon. I stared at the stranger, taking in his odd appearance. He wore a checkered cotton shirt like Pa, but his was torn and dirty. His pants were made of leather and reached his ankle. His long jacket was also made of leather and appeared very worn and soft. He wore beaded moccasins like the Indians. He had long, shaggy blond hair. His beard was wild and unkempt and seemed like it had not been trimmed for months. He wore an old, rugged coonskin cap. Attached to his wide belt there was a shotgun, a dagger, a canteen, and a bulging pouch.

"Who are you?" Pa questioned the man suspiciously.

"Smith. Jedediah Smith's the name. Pleased to meet'cha," the stranger drawled.

Pa nodded stiffly. "I am John Brewer from Pennsylvania. My family and I are traveling to Oregon. Where are you headed?"

"Oh, I'm not headed anywhere in particular. Just followin' my instincts, explorin' the Wild West, makin' friendly with them Injuns."

"Oh! So, you are an explorer?"

"Mountain man's the termology of them educated folk for my types."

"I believe the word you intended to use there, Mr. Smith, was terminology," Pa offered.

"Termology, terminology, don't matter to me! Them fancy words is fer you fancy educated types. I ain't one o' them," Jed explained.

"I have heard of mountain men!" I exclaimed excitedly, "Do you ever help emigrants and other travelers?"

"Why, yes, I do, young'un," Mr. Smith sounded pleasantly surprised, "When I happen 'pon a group of people like you, tryin' to make it West, I'll give em' some practical advice and some help if possible. Some o' them Injuns out here can be real friendly-like if you bring 'em something purty. They like beads lots, and mirrors too."

"Well, Mr. Smith," Pa began, "Do you think you could be so kind as to direct us to the nearest trading camp? We have stopped at a few others along our way, but we are running low on flour and other necessities."

"Well, sure!" Mr. Smith agreed, "It's 'bout ten miles to the South and West of here. And that's the thing, Mister Brewer, you people have been traveling too far North to reach Oregon. You would'a been goners if I hadn't happn'd 'long. Oh, and one more thang. Please don't call me Mister Smith, that makes me feel all old and stuffy like you folks is. Call me Jed."

"Of course, Jed," Pa agreed, "thank you!" He turned around and shouted at the wagon behind us, "We will follow Mr. Jedediah Smith to the nearest trading camp, gentlemen! We have the help of a mountain man!"

Cheers and whistles echoed through the forest as Jed started walking and our wagon creaked as we started to follow him.

While traveling with Jedediah, I had hopped out of our wagon and was walking alongside him with several other boys. We listened to him as he told story after story of his adventures.

"Whoo boy!" Jed fervently rambled on and on about his adventures, "Now, with them Injuns in back o' us and an angry mama bear in our front, we just turned our lil' fillies to the side and hightailed it right on outta there! Now, that chase was even more fun than the time the hogs ate my sister! Speakin' of which, once, when me and my boys were out shootin' them deer, a wild hog comes runnin' out from the trees, and there's an arrow stickin' straight outta its back! Now, if that weren't the craziest sight I ever seen! Well, I shot it right through with a bullet to the head. Some o' them Injuns come running out next, whoopin' and hollerin' and babblin' bout some evil spirit in the pig—all nonsense. But they was real happy I had killed the thang fer 'em, and they brang me back to their camp. Whoo boy, that lil' powwow they had sure was fun! They got me all suckered up Injun style, with the paints and the feathers and such, and we danced and whooped and ate til' all hours of the mornin'!"

Just then, my father called down, "How much farther, Jed?"

"Well, that's the thang!" Jed exclaimed, "We's right about here! You see that log fort out yonder? That's the camp!"

I hope you liked it, what did you think of Jed?


	3. Chapter 3

"Jack! Jack! Jackson Michelangelo Brewer!" my mother called. Startled, I glanced up from my computer to find my mother standing in my doorway.

"Jack, you fell asleep!" my mother rebuked me, "we are eating dinner now, but after you clean up your dishes, you need to march right back up here and finish your report. You have barely written a paragraph!"

"Ok, coming mother," I stood up and stretched, and then hurried downstairs to set the table. When the dishes were set out, mom served up spaghetti and meatballs—my favorite!

"If you finish everything on your plate, including the cucumbers," my mother stared pointedly at the light green round circles on my plate, "you can have chocolate mousse for dessert."

"Whoo, boy!" I exclaimed excitedly, "Chocolate mousse!"

"Jack, I know you like my chocolate mousse, but it is not polite to whoop like an Indian," my mother scolded.

"Sorry, Mam," I acceded.

"Mam?" my mom questioned, "Jack, what in the world has gotten into you? Are you sick?" she reached over and felt my forehead.

"Oh, no, I'm fine mom," I hurriedly explained, "It. . .has something to do with my Oregon Trail report!"

"Ok," my mother sighed dubiously.

After my salad, cucumbers, two helpings of spaghetti and meatballs, and chocolate mousse, I headed back upstairs.

"Jack!" mom called after me, "you need to go to bed in an hour, and you still have to take a shower! Hurry up!"

"Ok, mom!" I shouted. I shuffled over to my desk, enjoying the tingly feeling of the bottoms of my feet rubbing against the shaggy carpet. Sitting down, I skimmed my source text, and then began typing. _"Along the way to Oregon, there were many "trading camps." These were typically run by the French or the Indians. Travelers could trade some of their unnecessary, frivolous items for necessities such as food, ammunition, and even horses or oxen. Although these trading camps were common knowledge among travelers, they were often out of the way and not easily found. Many wagon camps never stopped at a trading camp. While many wagon trains made it to the West, some travelers were not as lucky. Often, a wagon with a sick member lagged behind the rest and was left alone. Alone in the wilderness, there were very high odds against survival. Many families died on their way to a new life. These tragedies have compelled the government and individuals to put up memorials to those brave emigrants. Even though many travelers did not make it, there was an even higher percentage of people who did make it. . ."_

* * *

Keeping the fort in the distance in sight, we rolled along for a few more moments and then arrived in front of the trading camp.

"Well, here ya is, folks!" Jed exclaimed, "Now, is there anythang else you folks need 'fore I leave?"

"Well, Jed," Pa mused, "you could join us and let us buy you a drink."

"Well, I really should be getting' on my way, cuz my types don't like to hang 'round in one place for too long. But I guess one drink won't hurt," Jed agreed, "and I can help eng'neer your tradin' with these traders. I'm real friendly with these Frenchies, so I can get'cha folks a sweet 'lil deal."

"Of course," Pa agreed, "thank you!"

Quiet women, bouncing, giggling children, boisterous men, and several other boys my age—my new friends—poured out of the wagons.

"Attention! Attention, everyone!" Pa shouted, "I believe that we should all give thanks to God for bringing us successfully thus far, for this trading camp, and for Jedediah Smith."

Agreement chorused from everyone in camp, and we all gathered in a circle.

"Heavenly Father," Pa started solemnly, "we thank you for this fine day. Thank you for blessing us with very few losses and success in traveling all the way from Pennsylvania to Idaho. Thank you for these wonderful families that we travel with, and for helping us stay healthy and strong. Thank you for Mr. Jedediah Smith, this kindly mountain man who has helped us back on the trail to Oregon. Thank you for the French and the Indians and the many trading camps they run. We praise you, Father, for your amazing world, and all the creatures in it. Thank you. Amen."

"Amen!" everyone chorused.

"Now," Pa shouted, "Let's go grab the necessities we need and we can be on our way again! According to Jedediah Smith, we should be in Oregon within a week! This definitely has been a successful journey."

* * *

_"Because of these brave travelers, the states of California, Oregon, and Washington are populated today. We need to remember these intrepid explorers as the ones who founded the interminable West through the renowned Oregon Trail."_

"There!" I muttered to myself, "Done!" Turning around in my chair, I shouted down the stairs, "Mom! I'm done!"

"Great job, honey!" my mom exclaimed, showing up at my door, "Now, take a shower and prepare for bed! You have a busy day tomorrow!"

"Oh, yeah! I just remembered! I have a soccer game! And a field trip to the candy factory!" I rushed down to the bathroom in the hall and zoomed through my bedtime preparations. As I climbed into bed, my mom sat down at the end of my bed.

"Goodnight, sweetie," she smiled and hugged me, then stood up and turned off the light, "you need plenty of sleep tonight so you are well rested for your busy day tomorrow." She closed the door and turned off the hall light.

As I drifted off to sleep, I contemplated the brave travelers on the Oregon Trail. _They risked their lives. Because of them, I can live here in opulent Seaford. Luckily, I do not even have to hunt for food. Although, that would be kinda cool. But still, I am so glad those audacious travelers diligently persevered through the tedious and perilous journey on the Oregon Trail. Those travelers certainly were the founders of the West. Whoo boy!_

**What did you think? I know, it was a really cheesy ending. I know everything was very AU and OOC, but I thought it was good. What are your thoughts?**


End file.
